


and all the roads we have to walk are winding

by thisdarkpassenger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Post-Hogwarts, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisdarkpassenger/pseuds/thisdarkpassenger
Summary: she doesn't believe in fate. until she does. one-shot. harry/hermione.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 97





	and all the roads we have to walk are winding

**Author's Note:**

> just a one-shot. feel free to leave a review. I hope you enjoy.

**i.**

"I just think the whole thing is rubbish," she proclaims, her lips pursing together as she tried to not get irritated at the low murmurs and eye rolls sent her way. "My life shouldn't be dedicated to whether or not I find my soulmate, that is all I'm trying to say. What ever happened to career driven women? I want to focus on being the best I can be, not being someone's someone fated."

Sipping from her wine glass Hermione took a moment to watch the flicker of disappointment in her friends' eyes before she let her gaze fall on Ginny; the only friend she knew that would support her in this, the only friend that thought the inevitability of soulmates was ridiculous. She'd used Ginny more than once in her debates; citing that the girl was her soulmate despite her counter still ticking. Sure maybe they weren't destined in the traditional sense of true love and all that rubbish, but they were fated in the sense that they were destined to meet and be in one another's lives forever. Sure they weren't the others 'true love'-whatever that was, Hermione scoffed-but they were inevitable too. Hermione argued that soulmates were people who entered your life, for better or for worse, and changed it irrevocably regardless of the timer on your wrist.

Neville sighed and ignored Ginny as she slammed her glass on the table with a drunken, albeit sincere, 'hear hear' at Hermione's words, and gave her a slow look. "You can't close yourself off like that though. What if you meet your soulmate but you're too focused on everything else to notice and they leave?"

"I think you're missing the point, Nev." George piped up before he focused his attention on Ginny, giving her a meaningful look and turning his wrist over to show his faded numbers. "Fate lets you know when you've met your soulmate, whether they are ready for that commitment or not."

An uncomfortable silence took over the table for a minute longer than what would be deemed polite before Hermione cleared her throat, freeing her friend from any more unnecessary attention. "Exactly. I'm just saying I'm not breaking any laws by not listening to this thing. I just want to focus on myself, on having fun, and if I meet my soulmate then fine but if we never cross paths then I'm not going to spend my life searching. You were one of the lucky ones George," Hermione continued, attempting to ignore how Fred lost himself in his beer and Ginny found an interesting article in the newspaper, "You found yours at Hogwarts, you never had to search. But me? I'm fine without knowing my fate."

Her words, however powerful, didn't stop the itch on her wrist.

**ii.**

Harry watched the blue-grey smoke rise from between dark fingertips and he wondered, briefly, if this is what it felt like to be hypnotized. The way they were laid was a fucking cliché but he kind of loved it; he loved how the bright white sheets covered most of Fleur except for the knee she had propped up and her slender, yet strong, shoulders. He loved how the double doors onto the tiny balcony were open just enough to let in little sighs of the warm Paris breeze, billowing the thin curtains into the room and the morning sun casting fingertip shadows over everything.

From where Fleur had her wrist perched on her knee, the cigarette still smoldering between her fingers, Harry could clearly see her timer still counting down slowly; ticking away, breaking off a piece of her future bit by bit. Neither of them really believed in the soulmate story and yet, sometimes, usually on the darkest of nights when even the warmest sheets couldn't warm his chilled body, Harry wished Fleur's timer would have hit 00:00:00 the moment they'd met on that rainy street in France.

But it hadn't and Harry had ignored the fluttering of his heart and how his stomach dropped when the tall beauty had smiled at him.

Fleur turned her light eyes to him, her thick Parisian accent making Harry ache from his mouth to his stomach, and asked slowly (almost as if she didn't care but Harry knew, he knew, he knew, he knew), "When do you leave?"

He dug his nails into his scalp as he thought about his answer. As runner up for interim chief auror, he knew he had to return to London and be seen as soon as possible - and yet. He wanted to stay, to erase the idea of timers and soulmates and simply live in the bubble of French chic and smoke and sex. Of course he had a duty, but that meant nothing as of that moment.

Sure love was a weakness, it could bring great men to their knees, but maybe for a moment it could give him the strength to do whatever he wanted and stop obeying orders he never truly wanted to obey.

"Friday."

Fleur let out a stream of smoke so perfect that Harry almost slapped himself for thinking it. "Then we still have time."

It wasn't perfect, or fate, and Fleur definitely wasn't speaking French just then but it was Harry's now, and that was enough.

**iii.**

Hermione paid little to no attention to the numbers on her wrist and only noticed the change when George slapped her arm, hard, and pointed it out. The girl yelped at him, asked questions about what decisions she'd made or what she'd changed, and Hermione only stared at him blankly and gave her friend a swift shrug. Nothing had changed, she hadn't done anything differently, but even she couldn't deny the swoop in her stomach as she watched the numbers gently descend on her wrist. They'd been changing slowly, nothing noticeable for a long time, just letting her know that another day had passed but now the hours were changing rapidly and she had to wonder what had happened.

Where had this person been? What had they done? Did they notice the change too?

Shaking her head at herself, because what kind of idiot thought about those things, Hermione focused once more on Theodore and shifted away from George who was still poking at her wrist like it would hurry up the process.

("You're twenty-five years old, Hermione. It has to happen soon, right?")

Theodore spoke eloquently, but in the way it was forced-like he was trying to remember how to do it, and Hermione liked how his lips lifted in a boyish way and how he ran his hand through his hair when he was nervous and not willing to admit it. She'd noted his numbers were far from the same place as hers, like they were on two different paths in life, but reminded herself that it didn't matter; soulmates, the ones fated to them by some fucked up magical logic, didn't always mean your one true love and maybe Hermione's soulmate, and Theodore's, would be a passing phase. Maybe she could forge her own happiness instead of having it thrust upon her when fate finally allowed.

When the man stood up to use the bathroom Hermione whipped around, glaring at George before sending Fred such a helpless look that she almost felt sorry for herself at the reflection in his eyes. "We just want you to find happiness," he reminded her evenly, his voice as soothing as it had always been and Hermione appreciated, for the first time, that fate had brought this man into her life. 

"But maybe that's enough. You're making Theo uncomfortable."

"Good," George decided, a swift nod of his head letting everyone know he wasn't sorry for doing it. "Your timer is moving quicker than it ever has before, Granger. How are you not more excited? You could wake up tomorrow and find you only have hours left to meet your soulmate."

Hermione scoffed, the sound echoing into her martini glass, and she let her eyes focus on the handsome form of her date as he made his way back to their table. "Let's come back to that conversation tomorrow," she whispered, "For now though I'm just going to enjoy the rest of the night, okay?"

**iv.**

"Get off," Harry huffed, irritated at the weight on his shoulder and hip at such an early hour in the morning. When the weight refused to move-he should have known-Harry cracked one eye open and tilted his head, noting that the man was just one inch too far to land a good slap. "Seriously, Ron, move. Get the hell off of me."

Ron laughed, staring at him for a long time, before he finally lifted his weight from his best friend and sat at the edge of his bed. "They want you in the office by one," he told Harry, hardly introducing the topic and veering far away from any greeting or forced "I've missed you.” Sure they were close, but neither were very good at the feelings thing just yet.

"What time is it now?"

"Nine."

"Then leave me alone for another three hours."

Ron opened the curtains, taking a second to take in the view of London, Grimmauld Place, and he opened the doors to let in as much "fresh" air as he could.

"I'm exhausted, Ron. Give me a break." Despite the arguments Harry pushed himself out of the bed, knowing that if he didn't do it now he never would, and he stood at the side of the bed for a few seconds as he regained his balance. "I got back at two this morning."

"Not my problem," Ron shrugged. "We told you that you had until Wednesday, Harry. You were the one who extended your trip out there; it's your own fault and, honestly, I just can't find it in me to feel bad for you. Suck it up, get ready and hit the gym. People are expecting you. You have too much to do today and you have an interview."

Technically, he grumbled as he moved to the shower to wash the floo powder and night sweat from his body, it was Fleur and her tongue that had kept him in Paris two days too long. Fleur and that long hair that Harry couldn't help but bury himself into, Fleur and her smile, her hands, her beauty. She was intoxicating and, truly, Harry couldn't be blamed for wanting to extend his vacation just a little.

It was in the process of dragging his fingers through his hair that he noticed the change, his eyes catching the numbers of his wrist through the steam of the shower and he stuttered on a breath. They'd changed, he noted. Before they had more time on them than he could bother to notice but now, they were counting down like a honest to Merlin timer and judging by the number he had just over a day.

Well, that wasn't good.

**v.**

Neville laughed into the phone as he waited for Harry to arrive, his smile almost breaking Hermione's heart with how genuine it was, and she continued to punch at the punching bag while she waited. The famed Harry, the boy who lived, was apparently turning up today and yet Hermione had yet to even catch a glimpse of his arrival. It wasn't that she particularly wanted to meet him but she had challenged Neville to his truth-telling abilities when he'd let slip he was a personal trainer and this had been her opportunity to see if he was just joking around or being serious.

"George wants to know what your numbers say now," he called across to Hermione, capturing her attention and choosing not to tell George about the gesture Hermione sent. "And stop hitting with the side of your hand. You're going to break your fingers."

In truth Hermione knew exactly what her numbers said. She'd woken up that morning with the urge to look at them and, as she'd pulled her arm from beneath the naked torso of Theo, she'd noted how the time had quite clearly said twenty-four hours.

A day. 

She had a day to meet her soulmate and, for the first time in her life, she felt sick.

"Tell him I'm going to work and to get another hobby," she grunted, pulling the boxing gloves from her fingers with her teeth and letting them drop to the floor. "And let him know you're such a liar. Harry works out here, my ass, buddy. The closest thing you'll get to meeting that boy is that newspaper clipping you have of him in your office."

As Hermione left she felt a familiar burning sensation in her wrist, enough of a burn for her to look down, and her eyes widened as the numbers began to race once more to their destined end of 00:00:00. Her soulmate was, apparently, very close and just that thought made her stomach clench and her chest tighten. A fear gripped her and she panicked, suddenly afraid of the one inevitability she'd been told all of her life to expect, and she bolted from the building before she could really focus. The busy street hardly stopped her fast-paced steps and she only briefly noticed the black car that pulled up in front of the gym, only glimpsed at the legs that stepped out of the car and she turned a corner quickly as she forced herself to keep moving forward.

Hours later, when she looked at her wrist again while at work and sufficiently distracted, she heaved a sigh of relief to see that the numbers had resumed their gentle pace once more.

And she had to wonder, just how close had her soulmate been earlier that day?

**vi.**

Harry watched with a barely concealed smirk as Ron launched into one of the funniest tirades he had ever witnessed him in her life. Green eyes flickered from the scene.

"Was your coffee too caffeinated?" Harry asked, unable to help his sarcastic streak and reveling in the glare he got in return for his efforts. "Wait, no, did she not get you that piece of paper that you had in your hand that one time last week?"

Ron rolled his eyes and Harry smiled in victory. "She didn't call the caterers," he finally sighed, almost admitting that his tirade had been a little unjust before he reminded himself that, no, he was never wrong and this was why they were all so successful.

"Listen, I'll go to that deli down the block okay? I'll order some things and have them deliver it in an hour or so."

"You can't leave-" "

"Please? I need some air. I think the ink fumes are making me dizzy," he asked, He didn't add that his timer was ticking away slowly, that he was terrified his "soulmate" was in this building somewhere, and that he needed to breathe. "I'll be back and you know it. I'll be twenty minutes."

After staring at Harry silently for long enough that Harry was beginning to worry that his best friend had had a stroke, Ron nodded.

**vii.**

Hermione looked up as the bell above the door chimed and she almost cursed the customer, irritated she had to stop her stencil drawings just to serve and wrap some food that the idiot could have made at home.

Wait, no. Customer service.

Go.

"Welcome to Weasley's, what can I -" Hermione felt her eyes go wide and, honestly, she wanted to punch herself. Even if she'd tried she was sure she couldn't have gotten anymore "Teenage Romance Muggle Movie" than she had right then and for a minute she genuinely waited for the cheesy music to begin. "You're Harry."

He smiled once, nodding, "I am."

"Oh."

"Yes."

Hermione nodded at him, almost impressed, before she remembered with a start that she was supposed to be working and she gestured to the counter with a small grin. "I suppose you want to order something, right?"

"Well I didn't come here for the small talk," he said, rectifying his sentence when he saw a flutter of annoyance on the girls face. "Although I suppose it's a nice bonus. But I'm kind of on a lunch run and it's a rather large order, if that is okay?"

Letting out a noise that Hermione hoped wasn't too embarrassing she reached into her apron, pulling out a notebook and signaling with it that she'd take the man's order. She jotted down the items, only briefly grinning to herself that she was talking to Harry, Merlin, Harry, and she tried desperately to not stare at the handsomeness in front of her. She was glad that the store was quiet for once, that they were the only two there, because her red flush and blatant embarrassment was a little too much.

"Okay, so you'll have someone come and pick this up at one?"

"Yes."

Hermione finally looked up at the man, glancing through eyelashes and asked, breathier than she anticipated, "Will it be you coming back?"

That seemed to break the man's cool demeanor and he looked down to hide his faint smile, shaking his head a little. Fuck, he was adorable. And famous. Damn it. "No, I have to work but I'm sure the next person sent will be better at this small talk than I am."

"You're doing okay," Hermione lied, reaching her hand out. "Since I already know you. I'm Hermione."

Harry shook her hand, a smile lifting the left side of his lips. "At least I know you wear the correct name badge to work then, Hermione." After a moment he let go of the girl's hand, letting it drop and bringing his other to rub at his wrist nervously. "Not that I was looking at your chest."

"I wouldn't blame you"

The sound Harry made when he laughed made a knot form in Hermione's stomach and she bit her lip, trying to not let it show, and instead she rubbed her hands together briefly. She'd yet to do anything useful and with London being, well, London she knew this quiet wouldn't last much longer; the door would swing open, the office lunch hours would start, wizards would begin to pour in, and Harry would be lost to the crowds again.

"Merlin," Hermione looked up to see the other man, his eyes wide, and he blinked quickly. "I told Ron I'd be back already. I should go."

"Yes," she nodded, rushing for an excuse to keep the auror in her company a little longer. "I'll get your order ready for you. So, y'know, you're not waiting. And whatnot."

"Thank you," Harry breathed out nervously, his hand coming up to run through his hair and the sight caught in Hermione's chest. "I should go."

"You've said that."

"I know."

Finally, finally, Harry moved and it was then, only then, on a crowded London street did he finally look down to the irritated skin of his wrist; the wrist he'd been rubbing nervously, the wrist he'd ignored most of his life. 

The wrist that blatantly stared back at him with the numbers: 00:00:00.

His head twisted harshly and he looked back at the store, the heavy wooden door opening as Hermione stood there, her own fingers wrapped around her wrist and they stared at each other for a moment too long to be civil. 

"I should probably come back and pick up those sandwiches, huh?"

And, finally, Hermione believed in fate.

**fin.**


End file.
